Chapter 3

“Ricardo, what do you want?” Rubbing her closed eyelids, annoyed with herself for answering the call.

“I am just calling about the text you sent. I thought we were getting on so well. I really like you.”

Temilade stared at the phone and shook her head. “Ricardo, we were meant to be casual acquaintances who have sex. It was never meant for declaring an undying passion for each other. And it certainly wasn’t a relationship.”

There was silence on the other end.

“The rules of engagement were no strings attached sex. That means casual sex partners.” Pausing for breath. “Remember, you stressed this when we met.” She heard a sigh on the other end.

“I find you so cold, no wonder you’re single.”

“Being single is not a disease, you know. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re single too.”

“Are all of your kind like this, I should have known that you would be difficult.”

Laughing and shaking her head, she bristled in annoyance. “What exactly do you mean by difficult? Because I am not all over you like a rash, you think I am being difficult.”

If he wanted someone to adore him like a trophy, unfortunately he was barking up the wrong iroko tree. He was arrogant and conceited; he had every reason to be. Ricardo had the smoldering Italian looks that had women wetting their knickers while their clits pulsated with desire. His 6’4 physique oozed confidence, masculinity and edginess testament to a man who worked out. But the arrogance she initially deemed attractive as confidence was now bordering on something sinister and controlling.

“What do you want, Ricardo? A badge for being a good Bleep or what. Look, I don’t ride the same dick twice. I did with you, but now it’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on to what? The next man? What exactly are you looking for, little one? I can give it to you.”

You can’t. Just get off the phone. Clenching her fingers in annoyance.

“Your feistiness is so sexy; it reminds me of the feisty Italian women back home. You Bleep well too, I like that.”

Of course, it is until you want to tamp it down, she thought.

“I can’t understand why you are so full of yourself. You should be happy that I even got with you.”

What! Temilade looked into the phone, wishing his face was there, and bash him through the airwaves.

“I normally don’t go for girls like you.” He continued.

His meaning was crystal clear. What the Bleep!! The cheek of it. If only he knew who she really was.
Temilade laughed. “But you did, Ricardo. And it is my prerogative to move on. Goodbye.” Pressing the red button and blocking his number for good measure, she got up and stretched her legs.
What a bloody cheek.

Did he think he was doing her a favor by going out with her?
Idiot.

The one before Ricardo; Femi had called and texted, but she had blocked his less than one-minute arse. Did he really expect her to waste her time with a re-run?

Maybe it was high time to be celibate; the men she had her casual hookups with moaned and whined when she dumped them. They felt used, abused and dumped. Which was ironic, as they were the ones who stressed they did not want a relationship, and when she abided by their rules, they begged her to stay. Men were difficult to understand, she thought as she walked over to the glass window in her office.

Sex with Ricardo had been ok, he had lasted more than Femi’s sixty seconds, but he still had a lot to learn in that department. It was not what she really wanted, but one had to make do and not scare the men away.
And that was what it had been with Ricardo. Sex. Pure and simple.

Relationships weren’t her thing; she shuddered at the thought. Ricardo was angry that he was being treated and discarded the same way he treated women.

The first time they had sex had been at his place and she had left an hour later and didn’t call him. Unable to take the silent treatment, he had called two days later.

“Hey sexy, how come I have not heard from you? You didn’t even send me a message to say you got home in one piece. Is everything ok? I hope you enjoyed our evening together.”

She knew exactly what he was fishing for. Did she enjoy the sex they had? It had been passable. Not great, since she didn’t orgasm. That problem had been resolved when she returned home. He certainly wasn’t getting any medals for that lack luster performance.

“I am ok Ricardo, if something had happened, I wouldn’t be here speaking to you, would I?”

Why would she call? She had thanked him at his place for the tasty meal - pasta. Which was nice, but she didn’t owe him anything else.

“You are so funny, why don’t you come over tonight?”

She needed an itch scratched that night, so she had taken him up on his offer and had broken her one dick ride rule. But it was now time to move on. There was a reason she did not visit the same place twice. It was time to keep her legs crossed, men and their accompanying drama was doing her head in.

Adesina12:
So, this Jeremmy of man is kinda related to Ademuyiwa if I am truly following.
Anyway, we are waiting for the erotic Queen to clear the coast.
Sweet popcorn for you.

popcorn accepted.... New chapter has dropped.....

Temilade the public hoeee!!!
Erotic Queen!!! Who is Temilade?
Why she does not want relationship except casual sex?
Is she a feminist? Has she not gotten her match in the bed business?
Is orgasm her condition to be/stay with a man?
We are waiting for more info on the above questions.
Sweet popcorn for you.

Adesina12:
Temilade the public hoeee!!!
Erotic Queen!!! Who is Temilade?
Why she does not want relationship except casual sex?
Is she a feminist? Has she not gotten her match in the bed business?
Is orgasm her condition to be/stay with a man?
We are waiting for more info on the above questions.
Sweet popcorn for you.

All will be revealed.
But is she a hoe... Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous...
Is she a feminist....hmm continue reading

Lleigh:


All will be revealed.
But is she a hoe... *Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous*...
Is she a feminist....hmm continue reading

Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous!!!!
Adventurous
I laf in Lasgidi!! Kwantinu...
Sweet popcorn for you dear

Adesina12:


Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous!!!!
Adventurous
I laf in Lasgidi!! Kwantinu...
Sweet popcorn for you dear

She is adventurous, or she knows what she wants sex without the hassle of a relationship

Lleigh:


She is adventurous, or she knows what she wants sex without the hassle of a relationship

And she hasn't ventured into yahoo guys' adventure?
I pray she falls into one yahoo guy trap, then she will understand the real meaning of adventure.
i beg update sharp sharp.
sweet popcorn for you babe

Adesina12:


And she hasn't ventured into yahoo guys' adventure?
I pray she falls into one yahoo guy trap, then she will understand the real meaning of adventure.
i beg update sharp sharp.
sweet popcorn for you babe

Temilade will show any yahoo boy

Lleigh:


Temilade will show any yahoo boy

Anyway, you own Temilade and you can show her how to deal with Yahoo guys
I remember you have one Baba like that in Lekki
Sweet popcorn for you

Chapter 4

Ile-Ife present day

The loud patter of raindrops on the roof of his bedroom shattered the peace of his morning meditation. It was 6AM the Ooni got up and went about his morning ablutions. He liked to meditate before the day started, relishing the solitude and the opportunity to pray and get ready for the day ahead. And after that, move on to read the financial pages in the peace and quiet of his chambers.

There was one financial blog that he followed religiously, The Financial Raven. The global political and financial editorials were second to none. Whoever curated the news was well versed in international current affairs. The blog had appeared as a suggested follow on one of the social media sites he had on his tablet. It had been the logo, one morning around eight months ago, that had evoked strong dormant emotions in him. His fingers tracing over the logo, drawing him in. Regret and sadness heavy in his eyes and heart as he stared at it, making him realize how much he missed her.

The logo looked hand drawn, like the hundreds of drawings locked away in his desk. Every week without fail, from the time she could hold a pencil, she had given him a present. A hand drawn picture of a bird in various poses. It became their weekly ritual; when he traveled whenever he returned, a drawing would be waiting for him on his desk.

Her prodigious talent grew the older she got, highlighting the creativity his ancient family was famous for. She could look at anything once and draw it from memory. Numerous people home and abroad had told her to take her talent further and go to art school. Her response - there was nothing more a western art school could teach her. Telling people her talent came from her ancestor, the Carpenter Prince. To some people her attitude came across as arrogant, she shrugged it off, her work spoke for itself.

He smiled at the memory; he missed her.

The legend of the Carpenter Prince or the Lost Prince as he was known in some quarters, and his carvings still attracted tourists from all over the world to the palace. Unfortunately, some of the valuable artefacts had been looted from Ile-Ife and were now showcased in various museums across the world under immense security.

Legend had it that some of the Carpenter Prince’s most prized carvings still existed, and they would one day find their way back to Ile-Ife. It was a deep-rooted belief; the people of the town believed the artefacts would one day return to their rightful home.
The older she got, the more stubborn, inquisitive, and bold she became, insisting on playing an active role in the kingdom, as the firstborn and first princess. Disney channel helped cement her beliefs of her role in the kingdom. Having watched the programs and films with vested interest.

True, she was the firstborn, but she was a girl. He got weary having to explain to her time and time again that her younger brother, by his other wife, would be the chief representative of the kingdom, not her. Those words riled her, even at such a young age. Her eyes glittered with indignation and annoyance, with words muttered under her breath. His reply to her tantrums had always been she needed to marry, have children, and look after her family. Insisting those responsibilities would not leave much time for her to deal with the affairs of the kingdom.

Those words usually set her off as she seethed at the unfairness of it all. With hindsight, he should have known better. Abike was also academically brilliant, leaving school at 15, with 12 A* GCSE’s and 4 A*A-levels. Gaining admission at sixteen to study at Oxford and Cambridge, just to mention a few. She eventually studied economics and finance at the London School of Economics and after gained a master’s in international relations and another one in international finance.

Her plan and vision - open Ile-Ife to the world and create a tourism conduit with the west. Explaining to him that there was currently enormous interest in all things African and where else to start that renaissance than Ile-Ife the cradle of all civilization. The plans had been bold and full of passion. Having drawn up the documents detailing how they would get financial backing and partnerships from some of the biggest firms and banks in the world.

The plans would have worked if she had been at the helm. Instead of encouraging her, he had purposely and cruelly torn down her dreams and aspirations.

Adesina12:
Roll Call
The food is ready with sweet popcorn and cold Hennesy on top
ann2012
Housing, Toeze, Odewaleadesoye, knowhowk, Stargurl20, EvaJael, logon599, Khriztarl, princessboy12, damselposh, Ak86, ukaface, Dammykrone, BiadeFolar, Icebreeze, ironkurtain, ladySuperb, Benjom(m), Centino, ghostwritter, Rakiababy, moyarhtohbadt, favch, SheWrites, Darkcrisp, dealslip, TheBlessedMAN, sleeqiam, importexpert, purityval, queenitee, rachealfst, Switup, onihaxy, Creeza, hamzatseyi, BiafranBushBoy, bibijay123, Nitefury, fiyah

Seat claimed

Different plot

Chapter 5

Temilade walked back to her desk, sat down and squinted at the screen of her laptop; there were a lot of red squiggly lines on her power point slide. Sighing, she reached for her bag and pulled out her glasses.

Frantically trying to put the finishing touches to the presentation, she was delivering to a select committee of financiers from both the public and private sector in parliament the next day.

She had taken the afternoon off from work, as she needed to visit her warehouse in Shoreditch. The state-of-the-art CCTV system installed helped her monitor the daily operations remotely. Harpreet, her manager, ensured the smooth running of the business and slackers/stealers where dealt with before Temilade voiced the fact she wanted to discipline or sack a member of staff.

The idea for the clothesline had come to her in a recurring dream, but indecision and a generous lack of self-confidence had plagued her for a while. Eventually, she had gone ahead with her ideas, keeping the concept simple. Ten pieces of men’s clothing with a bird logo.

The brand appealed to the brave and rich. Her customers knew they were buying quality, exclusivity, and uniqueness. The clothing had been showcased regularly in several top fashion magazines, the mysterious, eerie, intricate fabric design drawing people in. The identity of the designer, purposefully shrouded in anonymity and mystery, helped add another layer of mystique.

The strategy worked as sales had gradually gone through the roof. Being an online only store helped generate interest. Brand awareness had been improved by having pop ups at key fashion events, which kept overheads down and ensured the women who worked for her got a decent wage. There were no white shirts in her portfolio, the bird she identified with was not white, and depending on the shadow, the plumage could be red, black, or green. So, she had stuck to those colors.

Getting up from her desk to stretch her legs, she looked down into the warehouse from her office and watched as her staff scurried about to complete their tasks. Ladies hunched over sewing machines, others by the labeling machine getting orders ready for dispatch.

There was a smile on her face as she looked over to the dress bag hanging on her door; she needed to put the finishing touches on her friend’s wedding dress. Sam, her best friend, was getting married in Nigeria. She was so happy for her, as Sam had given up on finding love again after her husband died. The two of them had met while doing their A- levels and had remained firm friends since they also shared certain interests. As they got older, they both embraced the things that set them apart from the other ladies in their circle.

Sam, a psychologist, had helped her both off and on the couch. What was the point of seeing another therapist when she had a friend who was one? And as a token of gratitude, she had designed her wedding dress. The only thing left to do, which she would do when she got to Lagos, was to finish the seam on the side just in case Sam had been busy eating too many cakes with her soon to be husband.

She missed him; she could not deny that. Their discussions, arguments, talking about how their individual days had been. Eating together with their hands from the same plate. Him cooking for her when people were not around watching them, he was an exceptional cook; it was a secret they shared with no one else. Shaking her head, she banished the thoughts to the empty box in her mind and slammed it shut.

Temilade sighed, Sam was lucky, she on the other hand, had sworn off men and marriage. Watching loved up couples created a pang of longing, the pangs turning into episodes of melancholy, with self-doubt eating away at her soul. Making her wonder if she had done the right thing - calling off her royal wedding two days before the momentous event.

Thank you the EROTIC Queen for this small meal
Sweet popcorn for you.

Chapter 6

His friend’s words echoed in his head. Has anything changed on the home front? The trauma of Jeremy’s childhood had been made bearable by his friendship with Remi. The two of them became friends in primary school, they had then boarded together at the same exclusive secondary school in Scotland. Their nicknames had been ebony and ivory. Where there was one, the other was not too far behind.

Jeremy, who had suffered debilitating bouts of loneliness and depression, hated the school holidays, as it meant he had to go home. He invited Remi over to his home frequently, which Remi always accepted. However, the spooky encounter Remi experienced the first time he visited solidified their friendship further, like no other experience ever would. Remi still mentioned the incident in passing whenever they were together, reminiscing about their school days.

During their school years, Remi had reciprocated the gesture and had invited Jeremy over to Nigeria the summers he had gone back to his parents’ home, but Jeremy’s mother, Ingrid, had been vehemently against it. Letting him know in no uncertain terms, he wasn’t allowed to go. She didn’t mince her words on what she thought of Africa as a whole. As far as his mother was concerned, if you weren’t white, blue eyed, and blond, you were persona non grata. And there was no way she was going to tell her society friends that Jeremy had gone to Africa with his friend for the summer.

Jeremy took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, thinking about his birth mother and her attitude towards him always dampened his mood. His dark, almost black eyes wandered over his table; he needed coffee. It had been a restless night, his joints were playing up again, so sleep had been minimal.

If only the doctors could explain the recurring problem,he had with his joints, staring at the inconclusive results of the latest MRI the doctor had requested. It was the same response - there was nothing wrong with him. But if he needed stronger pain killers… One doctor had said that the pain was in his head, that he should see a psychiatrist.

Sure, he thought, why not, it wasn’t just his body that was falling apart. He put the report in his personal file, picked up his phone, and set off to Café Nero. Maybe the heat of Nigeria would help soothe away the pain in his joints and soul.

Chapter 7

Rubbing her hands over her face, Temilade shook her head, trying to chase away the memories. She was now a Bleep and dump them girl. And if they could not do the fucking properly, they were gone and blocked from her life and phone.

Ghosted.

What did the guys expect? A medal for shoddy services rendered.
Getting up, she stretched her legs; she had changed after the wedding fiasco.

For as long as Temilade could remember, her father drummed it into her - she would marry a distant cousin when she grew up. No one had discussed this with her; why would they? It had been a done deal - signed, sealed, and delivered. There was no way a girl would dare question or complain about what the men of the kingdom decided for her future. It was only later she realized she had been used as a bargaining chip to fulfill an ancient prophecy.

The oracle had preordained the marriage at her birth, and the oracle could never be wrong. The elders were adamant the union had to take place. Consequences, they murmured, consequences…
Because of her upbringing, she believed in the oracle and looked at her forthcoming marriage through the naïve rose-tinted glasses of a child who grew up watching Disney princess movies.

When the elders revealed him to her, physically Adebiyi lived up to all her addled brain romantic fantasies - sexy, tall, handsome, and confident. Saving herself for her betrothed, in all senses of the word, took root in her mind. Masturbation in her lust filled head meant she was being unfaithful, so she had focused her imagination on what her romantic, intimate, and passionate wedding night would be like with her handsome prince.

Well Bleep that, not anymore; that naïve girl had left the building.

Adebiyi, her husband to be the so-called distant cousin, had not been enamored by her when she had been revealed to him.

Temilade,on her part,had gradually grown to dislike Adebiyi, as more of his character was inadvertently revealed to her. The handsome, charming veneer hid a man who was arrogant, spiteful, controlling, and lazy. So bloody full of himself; with views on women rooted in the dark ages.
Things came to a troubling head during a visit to the palace by the groom’s family to discuss the forthcoming marriage arrangements. They had been ensconced in a room to themselves, oblivious to the surrounding people.

Temilade had wandered past the visitor reception room in the palace when she overheard her husband-to-be talking with his family.

“I will enjoy taking her down a peg or two. She needs to learn how to serve and submit to me. Princess or not.”

The malice present in his voice worried and troubled her. The two families didn’t get on because of some transgression relating to a snatched bride over 300 years ago. This marriage was meant to bury the ancient hatchet; a lot was riding on it. She heard a laugh as he continued with his gripes, much to the delight of his attentive audience.

“She is too forward, opinionated, and spoiled. Such women are not submissive or respectful. What she gets away with at the palace she dare not try it with me o, in my house. Emi okunrin meta, lai lai. All her degrees are of no significance to me. Educate a woman and they no longer know their place in society.” There was a clink as a glass was placed on a table.

“But she is a Princess, she is spoiled,” someone said.

Temilade jumped and covered her mouth to muffle her gasp. What had she done to elicit such ire from him? Her heart hammered in her chest in indignation. The bloody arrogance of it all galled her. How dare he talk about her like that in her family home?
He didn’t seem to care that he might be overheard, continuing, his footsteps echoing as he paced the room.

“She needs to know her place, and that place is servitude and submission to me and my family.” He chuckled. “Mum, I am sure you will know how to deal with a spoilt brat like her and make her life hell.”

His mother laughed in response. “Don’t worry, oko mi. We will teach her the manners she lacks the hard way. I am not surprised about her lack of home training,” she replied. “What do you expect? Her mother isn’t here to prepare her for the rigors of marriage and in-laws. If not for the insistence and authority of the elders, I would never approve of her as a wife for you.”

“She isn’t wife material,” someone else complained.

“We will show her with mouth and force how a good submissive wife behaves in our house.” Another voice piped in.

“I bet she doesn’t know how to cook.”

“I bet she doesn’t know how to pound yam.”

“Adebiyi, make sure you don’t let her have any house help o. That is the way to make her into the submissive wife she needs to be.”

“You must not let her go to work either.”

Temilade’s blood ran cold. What a joke. They were lucky to have her. An ache opened in her heart, would she be able to be with someone who didn’t like her, not to talk of him eventually touching her in such an intimate way when he claimed his rights as her husband?

Is this what she had saved herself for?

A man who viewed her with total disregard. Was this what she was letting herself into? This was nothing like the Disney films she watched growing up. This was reality, and if she didn’t critically and objectively appraise the situation, she would walk straight into an abusive marriage without a get-out clause. The society frowned on divorce; as a woman, she was supposed to grin and bear all things in a marriage. The default position being it was the woman’s fault if a marriage failed.

How was she going to cope with her new family?

Chapter 8

That question was answered - things took a critical turn for the worse when one of her ladies-in-waiting came over with her phone, a few days later and showed Temilade a picture on Instagram.
“Your Highness, I didn’t realize we are welcoming your co-wife so soon.”

Looking puzzled, Temilade asked, “Co-wife ke? What do you mean?”

It was a picture on one of the popular celebrity blogs. She stared at the picture of a pretty light-skinned girl smiling into the lens, shopping bags around her. Laughing with Adebiyi’s sister. Bola Adenekan out shopping with her soon to be sister-in-law. Bola will marry Adebiyi Aderopo next month. Adebiyi is a lucky man, having two lovely ladies to call his wife. Remember, Adebiyi will marry the first Princess of Ile-Ife in a few days. Congratulations to the new family.

What the fbck!

Heart beating fast in indignation, she was meant to share her new husband with another woman.
No bloody way. Her hands on her hips as she paced her room in annoyance.
That’s not what she signed up for. Armed with this information, she confronted her betrothed that evening.

“Temilade, I don’t understand why you are kicking up a fuss about me marrying another woman after you. Her name is Bola, not that woman. Show her some respect.” They were at Moremi - one of the most expensive restaurants in town, eating dinner and discussing last-minute items for the wedding.

Excuse me! Show her some respect. Was this man for real?

Putting his fork down, Adebiyi said, “Your father has more than one wife. You grew up in a polygamous home, you’re used to it. I don’t understand what you are moaning about.”

“Oh, so you marrying someone else is not something we need to discuss?”

“No.” Shrugging while wiping his hands on a serviette. “You have no right to query my decision to take on another wife. It is going to be my house and my rules.”

“Our house, you mean.”

Pushing his plate away. “You’re lucky I am not marrying the two of you on the same day. You have that concession; so, you better be grateful.” Taking a sip of his drink, then banging the glass down in annoyance. The couple at the next table looked over.

Temilade was speechless. Who the hell did he think he was?

“I am done here; I will drop you home. I’d like to be elsewhere with Bola, who knows her place and isn’t complaining or throwing tantrums about a trivial thing of being a co-wife like a spoilt brat.”

Heart pounding, Temilade opened her mouth to talk, but words failed her. Even though there was a lot of food on her plate, the sight of it made her nauseous. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she needed to get away from him. She pushed her plate away. “I better not stop you from going to see whoever you want. I am done here.” Picking up her Mulberry bag and standing up.
The journey back to the palace was silent as a gamut of emotions rushed through her, but she refused to cry in front of him. She wished she had her mum around her right now.
They finally pulled up at the palace gates while waiting for the guards to open it.

He turned to her with a smile on his face. “There is nothing you can do about it, Temilade. Bola is moving into my house, the same time as you. We are marrying the week after you. There is nothing to ask you. So, you better prepare yourself for company, we shall see who produces an heir first.”

Hands shaking, she got out of the car and walked away, tears streaming down her face, feeling lost and alone, as his words echoed in her brain.
It was true, she could not defy the king, the oracle, the elders or the traditions they all held so dear. The die had been cast; the wedding had to go ahead. Faced with no other choice, she cried every evening in the run up to the wedding.
Polygamy was something she detested with every fiber of her being. The intrigues and the rivalries the outside world never saw was something she never got used to. Just because she grew up in it didn’t mean she accepted it or liked it. She could not control what family she landed in when she had been born. The dislike she had for polygamy made her pray every day never to be in the situation where she would be a second wife or have someone share her husband. Her prayers would not be answered.

The void left empty from the passing of her mum made things worse for Temilade, having no one to confide her inner turmoil to. Sam had been dealing with the terminal prognosis of Michael’s illness, she couldn’t burden her with her problems. They felt inconsequential compared to what her best friend was going through.

All this turmoil helped fuel her angst over the injustice of her position at the palace. It angered her even though she was the first-born child, her brother born of the second wife, took precedence over everything in the kingdom. Temilade had seethed with indignation and resentment anytime she’d been relegated to the sidelines. The men of the palace overlooked the fact that stubbornness, bravery, and valor were soaked in her DNA. She was a direct descendant of the lost warrior prince of Ile-Ife, after all.
Wanting to do things that would bring the kingdom into the 21st century, just like her ancestor. But she had been vetoed at every turn and with every innovative idea she had presented to the palace. Hassling them so much that eventually exasperated, they told her to get married and shut up.

Adebiyi’s assault on her in her living quarters was the last straw. Distraught, bruised, and alone, she had tried to speak to her father, but he was more concerned with the preparations and hadn’t or refused to pick up on her distress when she tried to broach the subject. Her stepmothers weren’t of any help either, they viewed her as a threat and wanted her out of the palace.
Feeling alone, betrayed, and angry; after an evening of deep contemplation while staring at the portrait of the Carpenter Prince in her room, she had followed in her ancestor’s footsteps.

She called off the wedding, switched off her phone, dumped her royal beads and fled the kingdom. In the end, instead of being silent and invisible, she brought shame and dishonor to the throne and the kingdom.

First to comment thank you so much, OP. We are following closely

Nice one sir, waiting for more

Lleigh:


Received with thanks

Xavier invites you to our writer's community on WhatsApp. He specifically mentioned your moniker.

Send a DM to 09x029x84x03x0x5

Impressive story with catching sub plot. More power to your elbow,ma. Are you in anyway conversant with Morgan Rice?

Lleign come and kwantiniu nau